Sacred Scars
by walkerminion
Summary: Sequel to "Scent of a Man." Buried memories of Kyoto cast a shadow over Tsuzuki and Hisoka's fledgling relationship as they struggle with a tough new case. Can they banish all their demons, both inner and outer? Tsuzuki/Hisoka angst, romance and citrus.
1. Blue in Green

**AN:** So here it is--chapter one of my sequel to "Scent of a Man." This chapter was _the_ most challenging thing I've ever written, but I'm very excited about the results. Many thanks to Trans for her amazing beta work. I was ready to chuck this out and start over, but her feedback gave me the courage to keep going. I'm so glad I did. Thanks, too, to everyone who read "Scent" and left reviews. If you left a review and I haven't replied, I'm really sorry. I really appreciate all of your comments, and they were a huge encouragement for me to keep going with this story. Even when it was making me want to pull my hair out. If you haven't read "Scent," btw, don't worry about it. I put enough clues in this chapter that you should be able to read it on its own without confusion.** Warnings** apply for **sex, swearing** and some **disturbing themes,** which will only get more disturbing as the story progresses. This is definitely going to be a darker tale than "Scent." And of course, I sadly don't own these wonderful men. I am merely borrowing them from the creative genius herself, Matsushita-sensei. Enjoy!

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**Sacred Scars **

Tsuzuki didn't know why he kept drawing hooks. They had no special meaning for him, at least none that he could think of. Yet they appeared, automatic writing-like, on the backs of his grocery receipts, his restaurant checks and utility bills. Sometimes they turned up in the margins of his paperwork.

They reminded him of the hooks he saw draped in flesh in the window of the butcher shop near his apartment. He'd been avoiding that shop for weeks, even crossing the street so he wouldn't have to see what was hanging in the window. He'd also taken to hiding his pens. That had slowed the hooks for a while, but then one morning he drew one in the steam on his bathroom mirror. He'd stood there naked and shivering, staring at the way the hook circled his left eye, the way that condensation ran down from it like droplets of blood. Then he went out and bought himself a blank book.

The book had been Tatsumi's suggestion, at least in a roundabout way. Tatsumi and Watari were concerned about the gap in Tsuzuki's memories of the Kyoto case, and Tatsumi had suggested that Tsuzuki start keeping a journal to see if it helped to write things down. Tsuzuki was perfectly fine with not remembering. He was relieved, though, that the hooks now seemed content to decorate the pages of his journal, rather than sprawling out into other aspects of his life where others might see them and worry.

Glancing up, he noticed that one of those others--the most _important_ of those others--was standing outside his garden gate. Hisoka was dressed in traditional hakama with his sword strapped across his back, indicating that he'd just come from the dojo. His arms, on the other hand, were laden with two paper grocery sacks prominently stamped with the logo of a large supermarket chain. It made for such an incongruous image that Tsuzuki had to smile.

Hisoka was facing slightly away from the gate, staring into the distance. His expression seemed pensive, as if he was worried about something. Tsuzuki got the distinct impression he was about to walk away, and wondered guiltily how long his partner had been standing there. "Ne, Hisoka!" he called.

Hisoka started visibly. He hesitated for a moment as if composing himself, then swung back towards the gate. "Open up, will you?" he snapped. "Don't just sit there grinning."

Tsuzuki realized that he _was_ grinning. He couldn't help it where Hisoka was concerned. He flipped the book shut and leaped from the porch. The wet grass instantly soaked the hems of his jeans, but he paid it no attention. "Sorry," he said as he flung open the gate. "I didn't see you there."

"Maybe you shouldn't be so absent-minded," Hisoka muttered.

"You're probably right," Tsuzuki said cheerfully, lifting one of the grocery sacks from Hisoka's arms. He would gladly have taken both, but he knew better than to do anything that his younger partner might regard as patronizing. Normally he would have leaned in for a hello kiss at this point, but something in Hisoka's manner warned him not to. "Did you _walk_ here?" he asked instead, noting the state of Hisoka's clothes and the fact that his hair was plastered flat against his skull. The rain had tapered off by now, but Hisoka looked as if he'd been caught in the thick of it.

"It's not that far," Hisoka answered with a shrug. He'd made no move to step through the gate. His gaze was focused on some point just beyond Tsuzuki's shoulder. "Is it okay if I use your shower?" he asked.

"Sure," Tsuzuki said, frowning. He led the way up the stairs to his second-floor apartment and nudged the door open with his shoulder. He'd left it unlocked, as he normally did when he was just going down to work or sit in the garden. "Help yourself to some dry clothes if you want," he invited as they kicked their sandals off in the genkan.

"Thanks." Hisoka followed him to the kitchen, set his bag of groceries on the counter and switched on the oven. He turned and gave Tsuzuki another long, penetrating look, still not quite meeting his eyes. Then he walked off without another word.

Tsuzuki gazed after him, perplexed and a little hurt by his partner's odd behavior. It wasn't the first time Hisoka had shown up unannounced at his garden gate, nor was it the first time he'd brought groceries. He'd said once that he'd rather pay for groceries than risk eating anything that came from Tsuzuki's refrigerator, and Tsuzuki couldn't really argue that point. He was, however, used to getting a hello kiss, at least when they were alone together. Hisoka didn't seem to be in the mood for kissing. In fact, he seemed almost angry. Tsuzuki couldn't tell if the anger was directed at him or at someone else. He couldn't think of anything he'd done to warrant his partner's anger, but then you never knew. He supposed he'd just have to ask once Hisoka got out of the shower.

In the meantime, he busied himself unloading the groceries. The first bag yielded flour, potatoes, fresh thyme, lemons, olive oil and a bag of toasted cashews. And a recipe book, slightly damp around the edges, bookmarked with a yellow sticky note. He opened it to the marked page_. Gnocchi with Thyme Vinaigrette and Lemon Cashew Cream._ Italian food? Hisoka's cooking didn't normally lean to anything quite this exotic, but it looked delicious in the photo. His stomach gave an approving growl. (1)

The contents of the second bag were even more intriguing. It held lemon sorbet, a chilled bottle of chardonnay, and a mysterious white box embossed with the name of one of his favorite bakeries. Unfortunately, the box was sealed with a large gold sticker, so Tsuzuki resisted the urge to peek. He set it reverently on the counter, placed the sorbet in the freezer, and dug a couple of wine glasses from the back of one of his cupboards. They were a little dusty, so he washed and dried them and then stood dithering, trying to remember whether white wine was supposed to breathe or not.

Quiet footsteps interrupted his deliberations. He turned just as Hisoka appeared in the kitchen doorway. He was dressed in a pair of Tsuzuki's old jeans with the cuffs rolled up to expose slim ankles, and a belt fastened several notches too tight to keep the denim from sliding down over his narrow hips. A black t-shirt hung tent-like from his shoulders, its neckline revealing the delicate, wing-like curves of his collarbones.

"Are you going to pour that?" he asked, nodding towards the wine bottle. He was scrubbing his hair dry with one of Tsuzuki's towels.

"Are you sure you want to open it already?" Tsuzuki asked. He chose his words carefully, knowing that Hisoka's previous experience with alcohol was still a sore topic, even two years later.

"I'll just have a little."

Tsuzuki dutifully opened the bottle and poured a little into each of their glasses. "So what's all this for?" he asked teasingly. "If I didn't know better, I'd say it looks like a date."

"It is a date." Hisoka raised his glass in a perfunctory toast and downed its contents in one gulp. As he set it back on the counter, Tsuzuki noticed that his hand was trembling slightly. "I figured since we're getting our first real case tomorrow, and since it's our anniversary--"

"Anniversary?" Tsuzuki's heart beat a little faster.

"Six weeks," Hisoka said. Then scowled. "What?"

"Nothing!" Tsuzuki laughed. "I just thought I was the big sappy romantic, not you."

Hisoka's scowl deepened. "Just scrub the potatoes. I need to dry my sword before it rusts."

"So you're not mad at me," Tsuzuki called after him as he vanished into the next room.

"Why would I be mad at you?" Hisoka stuck his head back around the corner and studied him with narrowed eyes. _"Should_ I be?"

Tsuzuki shook his head, smiling.

Hisoka gave a soft little snort and disappeared again.

Tsuzuki breathed a sigh of relief. Hisoka wasn't angry. He was _nervous_ about something. Tsuzuki didn't have to think very long to guess what that might be. They had a new case coming up, after all. Of course they'd already been back at work for several weeks, though their duties had been confined to office work and a few minor retrieval assignments while other Shinigami took on the heavier cases that came up on Kyushu, which was their area of jurisdiction.

Now that they were both fully recovered from the devastating Kyoto case, however, they'd been cleared to take on the latest field assignment that had come up. Tsuzuki didn't know all the details yet, but the rumor around the office was that someone in the Nagasaki area was attempting to summon a demon. Starting tomorrow, it would be Tsuzuki's and Hisoka's job to find out who, and why.

Tsuzuki couldn't blame Hisoka for being nervous about it. The prospect of having to face down a demon was enough to give even a seasoned Shinigami a slight case of the jitters. For someone like Hisoka, who was still learning fuda magic, it had to be downright nerve-wracking.

"So what's in the box?" he called out. He figured that making small talk was the best way to distract his partner from whatever awaited them in the morning.

"What box?" Hisoka called back.

_"The_ box. The box you brought."

"You mean the one from _La Patisserie?"_ There was a hint of a smirk in Hisoka's voice. More than a hint, actually. Tsuzuki smiled to hear it.

"Yeah," he said. "That box."

"That info's on a strictly need-to-know basis."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning you don't need to know what's in there until after dinner."

"Aww, but Hisokaaa--"

"No."

"You don't even know what I was going to ask!"

"Of course I do. And no, you can't."

"So... I can take a peek _after_ dinner?"

"Yes."

"How soon can we eat?"

Hisoka stuck his head around the corner again. "How soon can you start scrubbing those potatoes?"

The dinner preparations went quite smoothly, even with Tsuzuki helping. Hisoka confined him to the most basic of tasks: scrubbing the potatoes, wrapping them in foil and sticking them in the oven. Filling a large pot with water and putting it on the stove to boil. Finding utensils that Hisoka needed for the more advanced preparations. That sort of thing.

"Don't you think a little sugar would be a good idea?" Tsuzuki asked, watching worriedly as Hisoka ground thyme leaves together with some salt.

Hisoka cocked one golden eyebrow at him. "It's a vinaigrette," he said, reaching for the bottle of white wine vinegar Tsuzuki had brought from the fridge. He measured out a teaspoon's worth and added it to the mortar with the salt and herbs. Olive oil followed. Tsuzuki winced.

"Just a _little_ sugar," he pleaded. He grabbed the sugar jar off a nearby shelf and tried to add some.

Hisoka slapped his hand away. "Put that back right now," he warned, "or it's going out the window."

"But 'Soka!" Tsuzuki was horrified. "You can't do that, it's... it's _sugar!"_

"Which is why it doesn't belong in the vinaigrette."

"What about syrup?" Tsuzuki suggested hopefully. "Syrup isn't the same thing as sugar, but it's still sweet."

"Just...go and put on some music, will you?"

"Fine," Tsuzuki grumbled. "I was just trying to help."

"Tsuzuki." Hisoka caught his arm and pulled him back, leaned up on tiptoe and looped an arm around Tsuzuki's neck. "Thanks."

"For what?" Tsuzuki asked, confused.

Hisoka pulled his head down and gave him a quick, fierce kiss. "Just for being you," he whispered. "Now go." He gave Tsuzuki a firm shove towards the door. "And this time pick something you can dance to. No crazy jazz."

"You got it," Tsuzuki said happily, bouncing towards the living room. The record he chose was apparently satisfactory, because Hisoka danced with him to the entire thing while the potatoes roasted in the oven.

Outside, the sky mellowed into the colors of sunset. Beams of amber light slanted through his blinds, painting bold stripes across his living room floor. Wonderful aromas drifted from the kitchen, filling his whole apartment with the smell of lemons and crushed herbs. Hisoka smelled wonderful, too. Beneath the familiar scents of Tsuzuki's soap and shampoo were tantalizing hints of Hisoka's own scent, a musky sweetness that swelled Tsuzuki's heart and set his nerves abuzz with an electrifying ache of want.

As always, he kept those particular feelings tucked firmly behind his emotional shields, much as he kept his hips angled away from Hisoka so that the younger man wouldn't feel his body's predictable response to their closeness. He knew some of the brutalities of Hisoka's past, including the unspeakable violation that had led to his premature death. The last thing he wanted was for Hisoka to feel any sense of pressure concerning the physical side of their relationship.

Instead, he projected his other feelings towards his empathic partner, wrapping him in a cocoon of safety, of tenderness and protection and deep love. It was that love that he'd most wanted to share anyway, a love that been growing in him since that fateful day two years ago when Hisoka had pointed a gun at his chest and threatened to shoot him through the heart. Hisoka's claim on his heart had only deepened since then, and those other feelings could wait. In fact, they could wait forever. Tsuzuki couldn't imagine anything more perfect than what they were doing right now, swaying together to the gentle strains of Miles Davis' _Blue in Green._

The oven timer pinged, and Hisoka eased back from him with noticeable reluctance. "Gotta finish dinner." He gave Tsuzuki's arms an apologetic squeeze before letting go. Tsuzuki followed him to the kitchen and watched in fascination as he transformed plain old potatoes into tender gnocchi that looked identical to those pictured in the book.

"These are amazing," Tsuzuki said some time later, as he speared the last of them. "I think you might even be right about the sugar."

"No kidding?" Hisoka watched him with obvious amusement as he dunked his morsel into what remained of the cashew cream sauce and popped it in his mouth. They were perched on tall stools at Tsuzuki's little two-person table. It was a bit awkward and their knees kept banging together, but the addition of a candle stub stuck into the mouth of an empty sake bottle and soft jazz background music gave the meal a certain sense of atmosphere, if not exactly elegance.

"Hmm, yeah," Tsuzuki said happily, licking a dab of sauce from his fingers. "It's kinda sweet all on its own."

When Hisoka said nothing in response, Tsuzuki cracked one eye open and looked the younger man. Hisoka flushed scarlet and glanced away. He cleared his throat. "I'll get dessert," he said thickly. He slid from the stool and began gathering their dishes together.

Tsuzuki jumped up. "Oh, let me help," he offered. "You did most of the cooking, after all."

Hisoka glared at him. _"You_ just want to peek in the box."

Tsuzuki had to laugh at that. Because it was partly true, after all. "Well yeah," he admitted. "Maybe I do."

"Stay right there," Hisoka warned. With that he bolted for the kitchen, his arms laden with dishes. Tsuzuki watched him go. Affection bled into concern when he heard only silence. The tension he'd sensed earlier was back, stronger than ever, and he decided that maybe small talk wasn't the answer.

"'Soka?" he said softly. "Are you okay in there?"

A muffled grunt was the only reply he got.

Tsuzuki frowned. "'Soka... are you worried about tomorrow?"

"What about tomorrow?"

"The case," Tsuzuki said, surprised.

"Oh." Hisoka blew out an audible breath. "No, it's okay. I mean nobody likes demons, but it's okay." So, Hisoka had heard those rumors too. There was another long pause. "Demons like Sagaatanusu, I mean," Hisoka said. "Demons that hurt people."

"I knew what you meant," Tsuzuki answered. Although _I have hurt people,_ he added silently.

Hisoka peeked around the corner and glared at him. "Go sit in the living room, and stop thinking such stupid things. You shouldn't believe someone like _him."_

Tsuzuki didn't go to the living room right away. He went outside and got his journal, so he wouldn't forget it on the porch overnight. He flipped through its pages as he jogged back up the stairs. Page after page of hooks. Some were suspended from ropes or chains, while others were just hooks. But they were all the same after a while, they got monotonous. Until he came to the last page, the page he'd drawn just before Hisoka came over. It had hooks like all the others, but there was a word as well. _Butterfly._ He stared at the kanji, savagely executed in sharp black lines, and shuddered. It meant nothing to him, yet somehow the sight of it filled him with a fervent sense of revulsion.

He snapped the book shut as he reached the living room, where Hisoka was sitting on the couch waiting for him. "Sorry," he mumbled. "Just remembered I was supposed to check the landlords' mail while they're on vacation."

Hisoka gave a slow nod. "Anything?"

"Nah, just bills. And this." Tsuzuki dropped the book on a stack of magazines. "Someone must have dropped it off. It doesn't fit under their door, so I guess I'll hang on to it 'til they get back from Okinawa."

He didn't know why he felt he had to lie about it. It wasn't as if he was afraid that Hisoka, of all people, would invade his privacy by reading his journal. He just couldn't bring himself to admit that the book was _his,_ especially to Hisoka.

"Ah," Hisoka said. He was hunched over slightly, his hands clasped between his knees. If he'd noticed the lie, he gave no sign. He seemed preoccupied.

Tsuzuki plopped down on the couch next to him, and for a moment he just sat there, staring at the gorgeous dessert that had magically appeared on his coffee table. It was a blueberry tart, the most perfect one he'd ever seen, dusted with icing sugar and topped with two generous scoops of the pale yellow sorbet. Those, in turn, were garnished with a sprig of fresh mint.

"Happy anniversary," Hisoka said quietly, handing him one of the two forks that sat on the coffee table next to this glorious creation. "I tried to get apple pie, but they were out." He shrugged.

"No no no, this is..." Tsuzuki just stared at the tart, words failing him. Finally he took a bite. It was every bit as delicious as it looked, if not more so. "Thanksh," he said with his mouth full. "Mmm, thath's marvelousth." He nudged the plate towards Hisoka. "Come on, have sthum!"

Hisoka sighed and picked up his own fork. His hand shook slightly as he scooped off a bit of the tart and sorbet and brought it to his mouth. "It's good," he said after a moment, sounding almost startled.

"Of courth it's good!" Tsuzuki exclaimed, swallowing more bites. His tongue was frozen by now, but he didn't care.  
They ate in silence, Tsuzuki marveling at how easy it was to forget about that creepy book when he was here with Hisoka. He noticed that Hisoka seemed distracted, however. He kept staring off into the distance, and every now and then darted a sideways glance at Tsuzuki through the curtain of his bangs. Finally, Tsuzuki had to ask. He pushed aside the mostly empty plate, turned to his partner and slid his fingers under the younger man's chin. Gently, he tipped Hisoka's face up, forcing their eyes to meet.

"What is it, 'Soka?" he asked softly. "Something's been on your mind all evening. Tell me what's up."

Hisoka glanced down at his hands, which were locked white-knuckled around his denim-clad knees. "I..." he began. "I'm just..." he broke off. Even without the benefit of Hisoka's empathic abilities, Tsuzuki could feel tension rolling off of him in waves. His heart clenched, aching for his partner. Whatever was on Hisoka's mind, it was obviously causing him tremendous anguish. He reached out, meaning to pull Hisoka into his arms, but Hisoka beat him to it.

He caught Tsuzuki's face in both his hands and crushed their mouths together in a bruising kiss. Tsuzuki stopped breathing. Bursts of light erupted behind his closed lids as he sank into it, unable to do anything but surrender, to open his mouth to the insistent prising of Hisoka's tongue. It was icy and tasted of lemons and blueberries as it swirled against his own. When the need for oxygen finally took over, Hisoka drew back with a low huff that might have been laughter.

"Your tongue's freezing," he muttered.

"Yours too." Tsuzuki grinned. "I thought you were going to tell me something."

"I _am_ telling you something," Hisoka said breathlessly. Then, as he leaned in for another kiss, "Idiot."

Tsuzuki laughed. He slipped an arm around Hisoka and drew him against his side, which was their usual make-out position. This was not the first time one of their dates had ended in this way, with the two of them kissing on the couch. He couldn't remember Hisoka ever kissing him in quite this way, though. There was something different about tonight, a tension he couldn't name. Not that he was really trying. Hisoka's kisses were just like that, they claimed his full attention.

Gradually, he became aware that Hisoka was shifting away from his side. He leaned forward, trying to follow the kiss. His whimper of protest died in his throat when he felt a slim, muscular thigh settle across his legs. Hisoka was climbing into his lap. The younger man braced his arms against the back of the couch and Tsuzuki caught his waist with both hands, steadying him. Hisoka let out a small, satisfied growl as he bent over Tsuzuki, deepening their kiss.

It always filled Tsuzuki with a sense of wonder to realize that his partner could actually be like this. And that he, of all people, was the one who got to witness it. A month and a half had gone by since the night of the staff Christmas party when they'd kissed for the first time, yet there was a part of him that still couldn't believe this was real. It was like a lovely dream, one that he feared he'd wake up from at any moment.

A lean hand cupped the side of his face, the thumb gliding against his cheekbone. "You're thinking again," Hisoka whispered against his lips. "Stop it."

Tsuzuki laughed and hugged his partner against his chest, being careful, as always, to keep some distance between their lower bodies. The last thing he wanted was to make his partner feel unsafe. Hisoka was being less than cooperative, however. He reclaimed Tsuzuki's mouth, pushing his tongue in forcefully as he worked their bodies closer.

Tsuzuki wriggled back a little, trying to reestablish a safe distance. Long thigh muscles flexed against his legs, trapping them, and then Hisoka abruptly grabbed his hips and tugged their bodies together so there was no distance between them at all. He buried his face against Tsuzuki's collar, and Tsuzuki could feel the heat in his face and the fine tremors cascading down the slim length of him and--oh kami, that _other_ length of him, tightly wedged between their bodies, blood-hot and so, so hard that Tsuzuki thought it had to hurt.

"It's okay," Hisoka whispered against his neck. "It isn't just you."

Tsuzuki's chest was so tight that he couldn't breathe. He was shaking all over, and he realized he was clinging to Hisoka, gripping fistfuls of the black t-shirt as if the younger man was a life preserver who could save him from drowning. "'Soka, I don't know if we should... this isn't a good idea."

"It's not an idea at all." Hisoka levered himself up so their eyes could meet. "It's a fact."

Tsuzuki just stared at him. So _this_ was what had been on Hisoka's mind all evening. The signs were all there, if only he'd been able to put two and two together. He'd just never thought...

"You're sure?" His voice seemed unnaturally loud in contrast to the quiet music playing in the background.

Hisoka didn't reply. He rocked forward, grinding their bodies together. Tsuzuki cried out, hips arching involuntarily. He bit his lip, tasting blood, and felt Hisoka's hands in his hair, stroking and soothing. "You don't have to hold back," the younger man whispered. The whisper became a path of kisses that trailed up the side of his neck, following the pulse line until they ended with a soft nip to his earlobe. "Want you. Asato-kun."

Hisoka's breath against his ear sent a piercing ache of longing straight to Tsuzuki's core. He rocked back against Hisoka, and was thrilled by the soft gasp he heard in response. "Hnn... 'Soka..." His hands swept over Hisoka's back in long strokes, moving down to settle finally at his hips. He paused there for a breath, then two, trying to make sense of the situation.

All this time he'd been trying to protect Hisoka, but Hisoka was no child. He knew what he wanted. And there was no point in trying to deny that he, Tsuzuki, wanted the same thing. _So why_ am _I holding back?_ With shaking hands, he cupped Hisoka's ass and pulled him tight against his body.

Hisoka responded with a growl of pleasure and bucked into him. Tsuzuki moaned aloud, fingers clenching in an almost brutal grip as he and Hisoka thrust against each other, finding their rhythm. A siren wail of alarm was still blaring at the back of Tsuzuki's mind but he forced it down, letting it get lost in the rock and sway of their bodies, in Hisoka's low panting breaths and the waves of sharp pleasure emanating from his groin.

Hisoka cupped his cheek and pulled their faces close. Their noses bumped, breaths mingling for a moment, and then Hisoka's mouth covered his. He heard himself groan as Hisoka pushed his tongue inside, stroking and probing. Hisoka's bangs drifted against his forehead, cloud-soft and soothingly cool on his fevered skin. He felt the flex and roll of firm buttocks under his hands, and the staccato rhythm of Hisoka's heart pounding against his through their aligned breastbones. So, so close, almost touching. Something inside him shattered, like a dam breaking, and a burst of searing happiness ripped through.

_Hisoka__,_ he sent. _I love you._

The response he got was an unfocused flood of light and warmth that washed through him like sunshine. The message couldn't have been clearer. Then Hisoka muttered something that might have been a curse, the specifics of it getting lost in their kiss, and arched his body off Tsuzuki's. He reached between them, fumbled for a moment, and got his belt undone. That was all that was needed for the loose pants to slide down over his hips, and Tsuzuki found his palms resting suddenly on his partner's bare butt cheeks.

He froze. His breath left him for a moment as his brain recalibrated itself to this new reality. Then, almost meditatively, he let his hand drift across his lover's ass, exploring the smooth curves. Hisoka melted against him with a soft whimper. Tsuzuki lifted a hand to stroke his hair, dropping little kisses on his brow, his cheeks, everywhere he could reach. He was rewarded when Hisoka took his face in both hands and sealed their mouths together.

Breath to breath, heart to heart. "You're so beautiful," Tsuzuki whispered against his mouth. His hand had drifted to the cleft of Hisoka's ass. He stroked lightly along it, not thinking about what he was doing until Hisoka's body suddenly went rigid against him, his breath escaping in a low hiss. Tsuzuki pulled his hand away. "Sorry."

Hisoka shook his head, his face buried against Tsuzuki's collarbone. "It's not your fault." His voice was thick with anger, and it was all too easy to guess where that anger was coming from, and at whom it was directed.

"We can stop if you want," Tsuzuki murmured. He rubbed little circles against the small of Hisoka's back, offering solace as best he could.

"No." Hisoka raised himself so their eyes could meet. "I _want_ this. I'm just... I need..." He trailed off, his gaze clouding with emotion.

Tsuzuki's heart broke a little. A wave of fury surged up in him at the thought that Muraki had done this to his partner. He buried it behind his shields, not wanting Hisoka to know that he _knew._ "Do you want to try something?" he asked finally, when he thought he had mastery of his voice.

Hisoka nodded, biting his lip. Tsuzuki stroked the side of his face--his brave, angel face, aching for him. "Sit up a little," he said. He took hold of Hisoka's shoulders and eased him back until he was sitting astride his lap. Hisoka gazed down at him, fear and expectancy warring behind his eyes. His face was flushed, lips swollen from kissing. The black shirt had fallen aside to reveal one lean shoulder, and he looked breathtaking.

Tsuzuki carefully straightened the shirt, not wanting Hisoka to feel any more exposed than necessary. He let his hands drift downwards, molding first to the shape of Hisoka's collarbones, then the sharp, unforgiving angles of his shoulders, then down to his chest. He traced the flat curves of pectoral muscles and felt small nipples harden into his palms. Hisoka made a sound that Tsuzuki felt as a low vibration through his hands, and he reached back with his emotions, sending love and reassurance and deep wonder that this was even allowed.

Hisoka grabbed one of his wrists. "Keep going," he growled, shoving his hand down. Tsuzuki smiled. He followed the path of gravity, letting his hands glide down over quaking ribs and a hard, flat stomach until at last they settled at Hisoka's groin. He cupped Hisoka through the front of his jeans, which had bunched into a graceless heap around his hips, and felt his flagging erection instantly revive itself. A tremor of delight arced through him at the knowledge that his mere touch could have this effect.

Their eyes met. Hisoka nodded, and Tsuzuki undid the button. He eased the zipper down, watching Hisoka's face for any signs of discomfort, and reached inside. An electric feeling shocked through him as his hand closed lightly on his partner's genitals. Hisoka rocked forward into his palm, permission granted in the clearest possible terms.

Tsuzuki allowed himself a moment of pure, shivering indulgence. He let his fingers wander lightly over the hot skin, loving its silky texture and the crisp scratchiness of hair against his knuckles. He wondered if that hair was wheat-colored too, like the hair on Hisoka's head. He cradled Hisoka's balls and rolled them in his palm, delighting in the small, ragged sounds this elicited from his partner. "I'm going to take you out of your pants," he whispered. "Is that okay?"

"Yesss... oh, fuck."

Hisoka's hands were suddenly in the way, colliding with his in their trembling eagerness to push the fabric aside. A frantic moment later, and Tsuzuki found himself gazing at his prize. As slender and lovely as Hisoka himself, curving gracefully upwards from its nest of fine curls. Which were, indeed, the color of ripe grain. "Beautiful," he said, still whispering because this moment was too perfect, too sacred to disrupt.

"Really?" Hisoka sounded so shocked--so _pleased,_ that Tsuzuki had to laugh.

"Yes, love. Really. You are beautiful."

Hisoka's gaze clouded again. He fumbled with the hem of his shirt, hesitated a moment, then skimmed it off. It fell in a heap on the floor in front of the couch, leaving him painfully exposed. "Still think so?" he asked. He closed his eyes, as if dreading the answer.

Tsuzuki caressed his face with his free hand, tracing the line of his jaw and skimming down to reverently stroke his chest. Hisoka's skin was fine-textured, sculpted by slanting curves of muscle and sharp bony angles. Tsuzuki ran his thumb playfully over one bronze areola, watching the delicate skin tighten beneath his touch.

"All of you," he said. He tightened his other hand, squeezing and pulling. Hisoka gasped, thrust forward and nearly lost his balance, grasping Tsuzuki's shoulders at the last moment to keep from falling. Tsuzuki caught his hip to steady him. "Okay?"

The answer Tsuzuki got was mostly inarticulate thanks to what his hand was doing. Smiling, he arched up towards Hisoka and kissed his throat, his collarbones, his puckering brow, every part of him he could reach. He was grateful that Hisoka's curse marks hadn't made an appearance. The very last thing Hisoka needed right now was a reminder of having been raped, and Tsuzuki hated the thought of Muraki intruding on this moment.

It briefly entered his mind that perhaps they should take this to his bedroom, or at least switch to a more comfortable position. Then again, Hisoka had probably chosen this position for a reason, and Tsuzuki could only guess that he needed the sense of control that it offered.

Hisoka bent and brushed their lips together, his breath puffing against Tsuzuki's mouth. "Unhh... Tsuzuki..." He was gripping Tsuzuki's shoulder so hard it hurt, while his other hand glided on Tsuzuki's chest in restless strokes, as if it didn't quite know where it should go. His palm grazed one of Tsuzuki's nipples and he froze, cried out even before Tsuzuki did. Something kindled in Hisoka's gaze then, a feral light that Tsuzuki hadn't seen before. He briefly found himself wondering how it would feel to be taken by Hisoka. The notion collapsed when Hisoka's fingers returned to his nipple with deliberate intent this time, rolling and squeezing through the thin material of his shirt.

A hot spear of pleasure sizzled along his nerves. He bucked into the touch, heard himself whine. "Hnn... Soka..."

"Good?"

He took a breath and started to answer, but then a searing image flashed through his mind. Pale hands moving on his chest, the glint of something metallic. Cold metal teeth biting skin, bright blood-berries rising to the surface. Then nothing. The images vanished like fragments of a half-remembered dream, but they left a chill in his blood.

He set his shields in place and, with an apologetic smile, moved Hisoka's hand away from his nipple. Hisoka looked surprised, perhaps a little disappointed, but he slipped his hand downwards undeterred, making a path towards Tsuzuki's belt buckle. Tsuzuki captured his wrist. "No," he whispered. "This if for you, love. Just you."

The moment those words left his mouth, something changed. It was like slamming headfirst into a wall of ice. The breath in his lungs froze and he found himself suddenly in a cold place, stretched naked on a hard, flat surface. The voice whispering those words in his ear wasn't his. It was a voice he knew too well, frost-edged and dripping promises of anguish. _For you, my butterfly. Just you._

Someone screamed. Maybe it was him. Then he was back on the couch and Hisoka was poised above him, frozen. His face was bone white, pupils dilated like a cat's so that only a thin strip of green showed around the edges. Neither one of them was breathing. A disconnected part of his brain took note of the fact that the record had gotten stuck and was playing the same meaningless phrase of music, over and over.

He opened his mouth, wanting to say something--anything--but the room seemed airless.

Hisoka shuddered suddenly. A tiny sound escaped his throat, something between a sob and a moan, and hot fluid gushed out over Tsuzuki's hand. The stillness that followed was terrifying. Tsuzuki heard his mind gibbering away in the background, doing frantic little somersaults of reasoning.

_He didn't see.  
Couldn't have.  
My shields were up.  
He didn't--_

"Tsuzuki."

All thought ended with that. Hisoka _had_ seen, he'd seen everything, and--

"Don't touch me!" Tsuzuki wriggled out from under him, dodging the hand that reached to touch his face. He stumbled back from the couch, self-revulsion crawling like worms beneath his skin as he turned and staggered to the bathroom.

"Tsuzuki!"

Tsuzuki paused. He took a last look back at Hisoka, so briefly his lover, who had risen from the couch and seemed to have found his senses somewhat. He'd buckled his pants, something for which Tsuzuki was grateful, but he had not yet retrieved the black shirt from the floor. His eyes were terrifyingly bright, and Tsuzuki ached at the sight of the rosy flush still spreading across his pale chest. "We can't do this again," Tsuzuki said. "I love you and I always will, but--we're just partners from now on. Understand?"

Hisoka's mouth fell open. "Tsuzuki, I don't--"

Tsuzuki didn't wait for the rest, if there was any. He stepped into the bathroom and slammed the door. The fan was loud and ancient and served to cover the sound of retching as he emptied his dinner into the toilet. His hands were freezing. He ran hot water on them to get the numbness out, and as the room filled with steam the image of the hook reappeared, ghostlike, on the mirror.

The apartment was empty when he came out. His record player was turned off and the dishes stacked neatly beside the sink. He filled his wine glass, drained it, filled it again and carried it and the book out onto the porch. There he lit a candle and started writing. The same words, over and over_. For you. My butterfly._

~0~0~0~

(1) I'm just guessing that Italian food would seem exotic to Tsuzuki, much as Japanese food was exotic to me when I first tried it. This is a real recipe, by the way. I picked it from one of the recipe apps on my iPod. It sounded both romantic and comforting, which seems like a good combination for this scene. If you want to try it, you can find it at Lauren Ulm's incredible food blog, Vegan Yum Yum. The recipe comes up if you search under "pasta" or gnocchi." It dates back to 2008 so you have to scroll a bit, but it's worth the effort!


	2. Rotten Wood

_I built you a home in my heart,__  
__with rotten wood, it decayed from the start._

-Death Cab for Cutie, _Crooked Teeth_

**Sacred Scars**  
Chapter Two: Rotten Wood_  
_

As the sky lightened with the first, feeble hints of gray, Tsuzuki said goodbye to his garden. It wasn't easy. He wanted to apologize to every leaf and flower, from the clematis that tendrilled along his back fence, to the stately hollyhocks, to the cheerful pansies edging his flower beds. With morning on its way, though, there was only time for him to turn in a slow circle and take it all in for the last time before he bent, picked up his suitcase, and walked out through the gate.

No explanations, no goodbyes. He'd made his decision in the small hours of the morning, as the haze of alcohol began to wear off. It was better this way, and he knew that Hisoka would understand. From what he'd seen last night, he'd know it was for the best. And he would tell the others. He would explain.

The shops on his street were all dark—even the butcher shop, though he crossed the street to avoid it anyway. A whiff of cinnamon reached his nostrils as he passed the bakery. On any other day, he'd knock on the back door to see if Yoson-san, the baker, was in a generous mood. Right now he had neither the time nor the appetite, and the thought of food made his stomach recoil. He walked to the end of the street and turned down a familiar path that led into the sakura forest.

This had been his route to work for the past seventy years, except for those days when he slept late and had to teleport to the office. But today, when he came to a place where the path forked, he didn't take the route that led to the Ministry building. He took the other path instead, the one that was dotted with weeds. The one that led to the edge of Meifu. He'd barely gone ten steps before a pillar of fire sprang up in front of him.

"Hey!" a familiar, feminine voice boomed. "Where do you think you're going?"

"Nee-san?" Tsuzuki held up a hand to shield his eyes. "What are you doing here?"

The pillar coalesced into the form of a red-haired woman. She was wearing a kimono in all the colors of sunset, and a glare that could melt steel. "I'm the one asking the questions," she snapped, folding her arms across her ample bosom. "Where are you going, and what's with the suitcase?"

Tsuzuki glanced down at his battered valise as if it could, itself, offer some kind of answer. "I'm going away," he said. "I'm sorry, Suzaku, I should have said something. Please tell Soryuu, Byakko, Touda and the others that I won't need their help anymore."

"The hell I will! Tell them yourself. And you can tell _me_ what's going on right now, or there's going to be consequences."

Tsuzuki sighed. Of the twelve shikigami who served him, Suzaku was the only one who'd ever disobey an order. She treated him more as a younger brother than a boss, something he'd always thought of as one of her best qualities, though it could also be one of her most frustrating. "I have to leave," he said again, the weight of that truth settling like a stone in his chest. "I don't want to talk about it." He tried to go around her, but she stepped into his path.

"Too bad. You can talk, or I can set fire to a few of these trees. I bet that would wake everyone up in a hurry!"

The orange glow that flickered behind her shoulders, a phantom remnant of the fiery wings she possessed in phoenix form, solidified into actual flames. Intense heat blasted Tsuzuki in the face, driving him back a step. He knew Suzaku was more than capable of carrying out her threat. In fact, he doubted that she'd stop at just a few trees. Once she got started, she'd probably level the whole forest. "Okay, okay," he said. "It's Hisoka. I've screwed things up pretty badly. The best thing I can do for him is—"

"The best thing you can do for _him?"_ Suzaku bristled—literally. Her wing-flames ruffled upwards like a set of hackles. "You really are an idiot, Tsuzuki."

"I know." He wasn't even going to try to deny it. "He needs space right now, so I'm going to—"

"Oh, pish! Did you even bother to ask him what he needs?"

"Suzaku, I'm not having this argument with you." He stepped around her and continued along the path.

"It's cute how you think you have a choice." She fell in step beside him, her boot heels loud on the stony ground. "So, oh wise one, where do you plan on going?"

Tsuzuki shrugged. "Not GenSouKai, I suppose?"

"Damn right. You set one foot in our realm, and we'll toss you right back. Well," she amended, _"I_ will."

"Thought so."

"So, ChiJou. Obviously. What do you plan on doing there?"

"Who said I'm planning?"

She snorted. "You'll need a place to live. And money."

"I'll get a job."

"Doing what?"

"Gardening, maybe. Or I could cook," Tsuzuki amended, because the thought of tending someone else's garden while his own withered and died was too much to bear.

"That depends on how much of a body count you're comfortable with."

"Hey! My cooking isn't _that_ bad."

Suzaku made a rude noise.

"Fine, then. I'll teach ballroom dancing, or tell fortunes, or—I don't know! To be honest, I don't give a shit."

"You better start. It's not that easy to make a living in the real world. You'll need a resume, for starters. What are you going to put down for job experience? Seventy years spent eating junk food, scratching yourself in interesting places and—oh yes, banishing the occasional demon?"

"I'll think of something."

"Okay, let's say you do. Let's say you get an apartment, fake your way through a job interview, and all the rest of it. You'll still have the other shini's to worry about."

"I'll be careful."

"But they'll find you. That's what they _do_—they find lost souls."

Tsuzuki stopped walking and stared at her. He knew she was right. He could pretend that his co-workers wouldn't come after him, that they would understand why he needed to disappear, but the truth was they'd come looking for him whether they wanted to or not. There was no way Enma would let go of his prized operative.

There was of course that other, more permanent way of disappearing. He'd thought about it many times during the night, wondering if, perhaps, Touda would help him again if he asked. Or commanded. Or begged. But the thought of being engulfed in his shikigami's soul-consuming flames brought him inevitably back to another memory. One of slender arms clamped around his neck, and of desperate, impassioned words choked out against his shoulder.

_There's no other place for me. Just here, in your heart._

Words that meant "I love you." Words that had brought him back to life, split his heart open wide and made him reach back with a promise. Perhaps it wasn't a promise meant to last beyond the short eternity that he and Hisoka held each other in the flames, but he wouldn't break it. Not now, not ever.

"What am I going to do?" he asked, more to himself than to Suzaku. The question made him feel like a little boy again, turning to his elder sister for guidance. Ruka would have known what to say right now. He searched Suzaku's face, hoping that she might too. She didn't answer right away. Instead, she raised an arm and pointed past his shoulder. Tsuzuki glanced back and saw the trees behind him dissolve into mist. When the mist parted, a path appeared. It led uphill through the trees to a large, temple-like structure that he recognized instantly. It was JuOhCho's dojo, which was normally on the other side of the lake from where they were standing.

"He's been up there for hours now," Suzaku said. "Go, talk to him."

"I can't."

"Can't, or won't?"

"It isn't that simple!" Tsuzuki remembered how, in the aftermath of Kyoto, Hisoka had resumed his martial arts practice as soon as he was able to walk. He'd done it in secret, rising before dawn each day so he could sneak off to the dojo without arousing Watari's suspicions. Tsuzuki had kept his mouth shut because he sensed that, doctor's orders notwithstanding, those dojo sessions were a part of Hisoka's healing process. He was sure the same was true now, perhaps even more so. "If he's up there, it means he needs privacy," he said. "Especially from me."

"I don't believe that."

"But you weren't there last night! You don't know what I _did."_

"Of course not. I have no idea what happened between the two of you, but I _do_ know you need him. And he needs you." She shoved him towards the dojo. The distance telescoped like a camera zooming in for a close-up, and they were suddenly at the foot of the dojo's front steps. Suzaku yanked the valise from his hands. "Go."

"It won't make any difference."

"You can't know that."

Oh, but he could. Tsuzuki cringed inwardly as he remembered the look of horror and revulsion he'd seen in Hisoka's eyes the night before. He couldn't face that again. "Nee-san," he said firmly. "I know that you mean well, but—"

"I'm not leaving until you talk to him."

"And when he tells me to go to hell?"

"I'll help you hide," she promised. "For as long as you want." She gave him another push. "Now go."

Tsuzuki stared at the door. A faint lantern glow flickered inside, and he could hear labored breathing and the sound of bare feet on a tatami floor. A shout rang out, followed by a stream of profanity. He flinched. Hisoka's voice was so distorted with rage and hate that he barely recognized it. He knew he deserved it, but it didn't make the thought of coming face to face with Hisoka's ultimate, final rejection of him any easier.

He took a deep breath and strengthened his shields, wanting to prevent Hisoka from seeing any more of his shame than he'd already witnessed. With a heavy heart, he set his foot on the first step. He glanced back at Suzaku, who nodded and gave him an encouraging smile. _Go,_ she mouthed silently. He took another step, his knees shaking. His legs felt like lead. He was on the third step when another voice drifted down to him from the open doorway. A voice that was far, far too familiar.

"Come now, bouya," it purred in satin tones of amusement. "Where is your sense of honor? Does your _bushido_ code not have something to say about striking down an unarmed man?"

Tsuzuki's heart froze. A storm of images rose before his mind's eye; blood and steel, pain and... and… death, the promised death that was always just beyond his reach. He remembered cold hands on his body, and that voice—oh gods, that _voice._ Hisoka wasn't shouting at _him,_ he was shouting at... but no, that couldn't be right. Muraki, here in Meifu? It wasn't possible. And yet—

"Bastard!" There was a whoosh of steel carving through air. "What does it say about fucking with someone's mind until they want to kill themselves?"

"You'll find that I'm not bound by such old-fashioned notions, boy. Then again, it seems that you're not, either. Have you abandoned poor, foolish little Tsubaki-hime's memory so easily?"

"I can only kill you once—unfortunately."

"Then I suppose you'll have to decide which vendetta matters the most," Muraki said with a low chuckle.

Tsuzuki moved silently up the steps, motioning for Suzaku to follow. He reached in his coat for an ofuda and, raising the spell slip before him, crept through the antechamber that divided the dojo's entrance from the main practice room. The air was heavy with incense, and pulsed with a latent energy that made him feel as if spiders were crawling up his arms. A powerful spell was at work, but he couldn't tell what kind. Muraki's voice lapped against his senses like water along a hidden shoreline.

"Whichever you choose, you are mine in the end. As _he_ became mine, quite recently."

A paper screen shielded the practice room's doorway. Tsuzuki took hold of the frame and was just easing it open when a chilling scream rang out. Driven by awful visions of what might be happening to his partner, he flung the screen roughly aside and plunged through. He expected Suzaku to come rushing through behind him, but she didn't. He found himself alone and transfixed, watching in horrified fascination as Hisoka lunged towards Muraki and planted his sword squarely in the man's chest.

Muraki stumbled back a step, but his smile remained undisturbed. He lifted a pale hand and ran it along the blade in a sort of caress, as scarlet foam bubbled from the corners of his mouth. "I see that troubles you," he wheezed through reddened teeth, "and no wonder. You gave him so much. You heart, your trust. Willingly shared… the burdens of his past. Yet in the end—"

"Shut up!" Hisoka twisted the blade viciously. "You miserable sack of shit, just _die_ already!"

"In the end he chose… _me,"_ Muraki finished, his voice trailing into a ghastly wet gurgle. He stumbled once and then fell, his mouth still stretched in that red, triumphant smile. His coat fluttered around him like broken wings and his body seemed to shrink in midair, flattening strangely. Tsuzuki watched, hardly believing his own eyes as the man's form morphed into a narrow slip of paper bound with a strand of silvery hair.

Hisoka snatched the bundle from the air and crushed it with his fist. "See you in hell, fucker."

Tsuzuki felt as if the air had been sucked from his lungs. Hisoka was facing away from him, his gaze fixed on a small shrine at the far end of the room. A calligraphy scroll extolling the virtues of the Samurai hung on the wall behind it. As Tsuzuki watched, he saw Hisoka's shoulders suddenly fall. The blade dipped perceptibly as a tremor ran through him, and Tsuzuki was struck by a sudden recollection of the _Princess Camilla,_ of Hisoka's anguish over shooting Tsubaki-hime and his terror that he was becoming like Muraki. He wanted to rush to him, to catch him in his arms and tell him that everything would be okay, but then he remembered that he couldn't. That Hisoka would be disgusted by his touch.

He folded his arms around his chest, pinning them forcefully in place. The rustle of his coat was unexpectedly loud against the silence, loud enough to bring Hisoka spinning towards him with a stifled cry. His blade moved in a quick, savage arc and came to a quivering halt just centimeters from Tsuzuki's Adam's apple. Then his eyes widened. He stumbled back a step and Tsuzuki watched as his mask of hate crumbled into a look of terror, then outrage.

"You _idiot!"_ Hisoka's yell shook the skylights in the dojo's high ceiling. "What the hell were you doing, sneaking up on me like that? I could've taken your big, dumb, empty head off!" He punctuated the words _big, dumb_ and _empty_ with quick sword-thrusts.

Tsuzuki backed off, hands raised in a pacifying gesture. "I didn't mean to! I'm sorry, I thought—" He broke off, suddenly not sure _what_ he'd thought. "Are you... okay?"

Hisoka was deathly pale, his eyes ringed with dark circles. His knuckles were white where they gripped the handle of the sword. He offered a tiny nod in reply to the question. "You?"

Tsuzuki shrugged. He didn't know how to answer that. He didn't know how to even begin having this conversation. All he knew was that he shouldn't be here, that he'd intruded on something intensely private. "Hisoka," he said.

"Tsuzuki—"

They both stopped. Hisoka glanced down at his hands and suddenly seemed to notice that he had his partner at sword-point. He took a step back and sheathed the weapon. Their eyes met. Tsuzuki was hit with a flood of images from the night before; of Hisoka astride his lap, fingers digging into his shoulders. Of how he'd felt pinned in place by that heated gaze. Of how their ragged breaths had fallen in counterpoint as their bodies took up that ancient rhythm like two halves of the same being. A flush of heat swept through him, and he glanced away.

Hisoka cleared his throat. "Tsuzuki," he said again. His voice was clogged with an emotion that was hard to identify, filling Tsuzuki with dread. Here it came, he thought. The moment when Hisoka would say he never wanted to see him again. He studied Hisoka through the screen of his lashes, fervently memorizing his stance, the set of his shoulders. The fall of sweat-darkened hair across his forehead, the way the lantern glow turned his eyes the color of a midnight forest.

"About last night," Hisoka said finally, his voice a bare quaver. "I... I'm sorry."

"Sorry?" Tsuzuki echoed in confusion. "_You?_ Hisoka, I don't—"

A shout from the doorway interrupted him. "Hisoka-kun!" the voice called out. Tsuzuki glanced up and was startled to see three men he didn't recognize hurrying towards them. All three were dressed in dark blue hakama and were armed with wooden practice swords. The man who'd spoken was short and broad-shouldered, and bald except for a gray fringe around the base of his skull. A dragon tattoo curled around his left ear and slithered down his neck to vanish beneath the collar of his kimono. His two friends were equally tough-looking, though they seemed friendly enough. They surrounded Hisoka and greeted him with a cheerful round of back-slapping.

"When did you get here?" the bald one asked.

"Um, around four-thirty?" Hisoka looked flustered by the sudden intrusion.

"Gah!" The bald man clutched his chest and recoiled with a strangled groan.

"You've done it now, Kurosaki," said the tallest of the three, shaking his head. His thick black hair and massive sideburns made him look like a Japanese Elvis. "You've given poor Yamada a heart attack. _Another_ one." He patted the bald man's shoulder with a sturdy palm.

"Four-thirty," Yamada said, panting. "That just… isn't normal."

"Of course it is. Unlike the rest of us, Hisoka-kun doesn't _need_ beauty sleep," the third man drawled. He was tall and thin, and wore his long white hair tied back in a ponytail. "He's much too pretty already." He batted his eyes at Hisoka, who rolled his own impatiently.

"Have you met my partner?" Hisoka asked. "Mifune, Takano, Yamada," he said, gesturing to each of the men in turn, "This is my partner, Tsuzuki Asato."

"Ah, the boyfriend!" The ponytailed man, whom Hisoka had indicated as Mifune, clapped his hands, and Tsuzuki noticed that he was wearing dark blue nail polish. "It's so nice to finally meet you."

Tsuzuki shot Hisoka an uncertain glance. "Um," he said, "we're really not—"

"Mifune Ogai," the man interrupted, bowing grandly. "This is _such_ a pleasure."

"A pleasure to know that Hisoka-kun likes his men a little older, right Ogai-kun?" the Elvis impersonator said with a deep chuckle. "Takano Kensaku," he added, bowing to Tsuzuki.

Yamada punched Takano's arm. "Not as old as _you_ morons," he said. Turning to Tsuzuki, he added, "The name's Yamada Shintaro. A real pleasure to meet you."

"It's, ah… nice to meet all of you, too," Tsuzuki said, fighting a stab of jealousy. It bothered him that these men had obviously been aware of his existence, while he'd had no idea about theirs. But then he felt Hisoka watching him, and when he turned to meet his eyes the look of veiled uncertainty, even fear, he saw in them made his chest tighten. Drawn by sheer instinct, he took a step closer. He half expected Hisoka to step away from him in disgust, but he didn't. He stood his ground, searching Tsuzuki's face with a look of question, and Tsuzuki felt a giddy mix of hope and terror flutter traitorously alive behind his breastbone. Was it possible that Hisoka _didn't_ hate him? It seemed too much to ask for, and yet—

"If only I'd died when I was young and lovely," Takano said with a theatrical sigh, running stubby fingers through his thick hair. "No one wants to date a fat old dude with 1970's sideburns."

"He's kidding," Yamada said. "He's got a girlfriend over in GoDouTenincho, Area 10."

"Oh, thank _you_ very much!" Takano glowered at him. "If word gets out that I'm straight, I'll never get a job in the Shokan Division!"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Hisoka demanded. There was no detectible change in his tone, but Tsuzuki saw him draw himself up as if an invisible weight had lifted from his shoulders.

"Aw, c'mon," Takano folded his arms across his broad chest. "Ya gotta admit that their hiring policy has a certain, shall we say, bias."

"That's not true," Tsuzuki protested. Their jocular mood was pulling him in, in spite of himself. "Terazuma's, um, fairly straight." He caught Hisoka's sudden scowl, and couldn't help smiling. "And Wakaba," he added. "And… um, Konoe Kachou. Probably."

"That many?" Mifune's mouth curled in distaste. "It sounds like the hetties are practically taking over! How disheartening."

Takano snorted. "It sounds like tokenism to me. They've just hired a few random straights to cover up their otherwise rampant discrimination."

The ribbing continued for a few minutes before the conversation turned to other topics, mostly things Tsuzuki knew nothing about. "Are you going to watch the Convergence?" Yamada asked Hisoka.

"The what?" Tsuzuki thought it sounded like something related to astronomy.

Hisoka glanced at him. "The All Japan Kendo Convergence," he explained. To Yamada, he replied, "Probably not."

"Ahem!" Mifune draped a slender arm across Hisoka's shoulders. "Have you boys forgotten our discussion last week? Our young friend made it perfectly clear that, in his opinion, the venerable art of kendo should not be reduced to a mere _sport."_

"Well if our young friend should change his mind," Takano said, "I'm hosting a viewing party at my house. We can watch Kimura get his ass kicked on my wide screen TV, in full Dolby surround. Significant others welcome, of course," he added, winking at Tsuzuki.

"Oh, I don't know if I'd count Kimura out so easily," Yamada said. "He's certainly beaten the odds so far. It will be interesting to see if he can go the full distance."

"And I _do_ love a man who can go the full distance," Mifune said with a grin.

"And I love it when Yamada loses a bet and has to buy us all dinner," Takano retorted. He gave Yamada a cheerful clap on the shoulder. Whatever was said next, Tsuzuki missed it because his phone rang just then. He stepped away from the group to pick it up.

"Moshi-moshi?"

"Tsuzuki-san, can you come in for an early briefing?" Gushoshin Younger's voice squeaked over the line. "We just got some new intel on your case."

"Sure, we'll be at the office in…" Tsuzuki trailed off as he realized his mistake. He glanced at Hisoka in apology.

"Ah!" Gushoshin Younger chortled in his ear. "Is Hisoka-san there as well? That saves me a phone call, then. See you soon!"

The line clicked dead. "They have something we're supposed to check into right away," Tsuzuki said, searching Hisoka's face. Last night, he'd said they could only be partners from now on. But would Hisoka want even that?"

"Arrgh, they're making you work!" Yamada groaned. "So unfair."

They said their goodbyes, and Tsuzuki and Hisoka headed for the door. "I guess I can change later," Hisoka said, glancing down at his clothes. He was wearing black hakama with a matching yukata underneath. Tsuzuki, on the other hand, had dressed as he would for any other day at the office. As they stepped out into the morning half-light, he noticed with relief that Suzaku was gone and that she'd taken his valise along with her. If Hisoka didn't hate him, or at least didn't mind working with him, he'd rather not have the evidence of his escape attempt sitting there on the steps.

"Are you ready?" he asked, striding to the center of the clearing. He kept his gaze fixed on the black silhouette of the Ministry building at the far side of the lake. They could be there in an instant. Their day would begin like any other, and life would go on as always. It was a better outcome than he could have imagined, and certainly better than he deserved. So why did he feel like part of him was dying?

"Don't you… want to talk about it?"

Hisoka's question was scarcely louder than the wind, but it cut to the heart of him. He turned slowly, thinking _no,_ with all his being _no._ He didn't want to talk about it, or think about it, or even remember what had happened. Yet he found himself nodding in resignation, and then following Hisoka's lead down to the lake's edge. The water was the color of obsidian, making the sakura trees on the far shore seem luridly pink by contrast. He couldn't help thinking of another time when they'd stood at the edge of this lake and of how he'd struggled, as he did now, to speak of the unforgivable.

Then, there had been no secrets. Hisoka had been perfectly aware of the nature of Tsuzuki's betrayal, of the horrors that had been inflicted on him by Tsuzuki's hands, if not his will. And Tsuzuki had known it too, because the demon made sure he saw every detail. He remembered how Hisoka had shrugged it off, telling him not to dwell on such "foolish things." As if being hacked to pieces was simply an inconvenience. Selfishly, he hoped that Hisoka would feel that way now, though he knew it wasn't the same. Couldn't be. Sagaatanasu wasn't Muraki, for one thing. And they hadn't been lovers.

"Hisoka," he said. "I'm so sorry. You have no idea—"

"Tsuzuki, I never should have—"

They both stopped.

"We keep doing that," Hisoka said, his mouth curling in a sickly half-smile. "Look. You don't have to shield so strongly. I didn't mean to… to see, last night. I won't invade your privacy."

"I know that," Tsuzuki said with a pang. "It's _me_ that I don't trust. Not you."

"I understand." Hisoka pulled his arms around himself, drawing his shoulders up to guard against the wind. He suddenly looked much younger, and more vulnerable. "What happened last night was my fault. I was so set on proving myself, I didn't—"

"No, it's mine," Tsuzuki interrupted. "I wasn't thinking clearly. I just assumed—I never thought that you… you'd want…"

"Sex?" Hisoka finished softly.

Tsuzuki nodded and glanced away, painfully aware of how stupid this was. They'd been doing it the night before, but now he couldn't even bring himself to name it. But of course, that had been before…

_My butterfly._ The wind slipped icy fingers beneath his coat, gentling shivers from his unwilling flesh.

"Muraki raped me five years ago," Hisoka said. As if it was an established fact that they were both perfectly well aware of.

As if… _oh, gods. _

Tsuzuki felt something inside him curl up in shame. _He does. He knows that I know._ "I'm sorry," he blurted. "I didn't mean to find out, he—he just _told_ me, and—"

A hand gripped his arm through the heavy canvas of his trench coat. A pulse of warmth emanated from that point of contact and he leaned towards it instinctively, like a flower stretching towards sunlight. Hisoka rubbed his arm gently. "It's okay," he said in a low voice. "I'm glad you know. I'm not glad that he _told_ you, but I'm glad you know."

"H… how did you…? Did I—"

"It was nothing you said," Hisoka assured him. "I wasn't even certain until the night of the Christmas party, when you asked me if we could take things slow."

"I didn't ask because of that," Tsuzuki whispered. The truth was so awful that he could barely make himself say it, though it brought a strange sense of relief at the same time. In a moment, Hisoka would see him for what he was. A coward, who could never deserve him. "Not because of what he did to you," he added in a rush, "but… but…" His voice stalled.

"Because of what he did to _you," _Hisoka finished, a thread of steel creeping into his voice.

Tsuzuki yanked his coat more tightly around himself, blocking out the wind and its ghostly insinuations. "What did you see?" he asked as he searched Hisoka's face, mental images stacking up like photos from a crime scene. He knew he shouldn't ask, but he had to know.

"Nothing. I just… just _felt…"_ Hisoka broke off, his gaze lost in the strip of silver that lined the eastern horizon. "I'm sorry. It should have been obvious. I know what he's like, I knew that you'd been in that hell-hole for three days. I just never…" he paused, and flushed. "I always thought of you like… well, someone _that_ couldn't happen to. It's stupid. I never imagined that you could be… you could be… raped."

_Raped._

The word clanged harshly in the still morning air. Tsuzuki gazed at Hisoka's profile, taking in the firmness of his gaze, the delicate slant of his jaw. He felt sick with the taste of adrenaline, and the knowledge that Hisoka _actually_ thought… But of course, that made sense. Muraki _had_ raped Hisoka, so it was only natural that he'd think of it as rape.

"Hisoka, I didn't—" he stopped. Took a ragged breath, knowing that he had to correct this somehow. He couldn't let Hisoka go on thinking that they were just the same, that he was innocent.

"You've known what he did to me for a long time," Hisoka stated, breaking his line of thought. "Haven't you?"

Tsuzuki nodded miserably. "Since our first case together." He tried to pull away, but Hisoka's hand tightened on his arm.

"You never treated me any differently," Hisoka said. "You never treated me like a victim. You were always there, giving me everything I needed to heal, and—" he caught Tsuzuki's chin, fingers cool and strong as he turned his face so their eyes could meet. "I want to be that for you, if I can. Please." An audible tremor crept into his voice as he added, "Let me try."

Tsuzuki felt something inside him break. His body shook and he desperately wanted to run from this, to hide away and never be seen again by anyone. But Hisoka had fought so long for this—this simple ability to trust, to touch another person and speak from his heart. With just a few words, Tsuzuki could take that away from him. How would he ever trust again, if he knew how utterly Tsuzuki had betrayed him?

"I... Hisoka." He sucked in a hard breath. It tasted bitter in his mouth, scorching his tongue like acid. "I'm just going to need... time, I guess. Like... like you did."

Hisoka nodded, blinking fast. He was unconsciously biting his lower lip, and in the first rays of dawn he looked like an angel. An angel whose eyes Tsuzuki could no longer meet for fear that the truth would come spilling out of him like maggots from the belly of a rotting carcass. An ugly thought came to him. _Did I think this could work _because_ of the rape?_ _That he wouldn't want to get closer because of what Muraki did to him?_

The realization was unbearable, but he knew that he'd have to bear it. He would have to be the man Hisoka thought he was. He'd stand by him, protect him from the truth for as long as he could, and when it finally did come out, well… maybe it wouldn't. He covered Hisoka's hand with his and gave it a quick squeeze. "We should get to the office."

"Yeah. I… yeah, okay." Hisoka let go of Tsuzuki's arm and stepped away from him. "I'm ready whenever you are." As they teleported away, it occurred to Tsuzuki that those words held a double meaning.

**AN:** I must apologize for the length of time it's taken me to update this. At the end of the last chapter, there was so much the guys needed to say to each other that it was hard to know where to begin. Nearly every scene went through many, many versions, and there are quite a few "deleted" scenes that never made it in at all. I must have written at least ten times as many words as I actually used—practically a novella's worth! But this version does, finally, say everything that I wanted it to say, and if you stuck around long enough to be reading this, then thank you! I'd especially like to thank Trans for doing her usual amazing beta work on this (the mistakes that remain are entirely mine) and thanks, too, to everyone who left a review for the first chapter. Your comments encouraged me to keep going through all those many revisions. I hope it was worth the wait, and I can assure you that Chapter 3 won't take nearly as long as this one did.


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